Prince of Persia: Blood on the Sand
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: The creatures spawned by the Sands of Time did not bleed as men did. Not actual blood at least.


**Blood on the Sand**

Even in death, the demons bled.

On some level, he knew that they weren't demons. His tutors had taught him about Angra Mainyu, and the creatures that now roamed Azad did not strike him as being birthed from his loins. Yet, what else could he call them? "Sand monsters?" The name felt so clumsy, so base, and what use was a word like "monster" now? Men could be monsters. Men could slaughter each other with impunity, for gold and glory. He had killed men in India, their blood hydrating his sword. He must have been a monster in their eyes, as he had cut through them as a sandstorm might through the desert. His father had told him of the great battles waged across the sands of Persia. Now, sand itself was his enemy.

So he did the dance that he had taught himself, within the streets of Babylon. Once, this dance would have meant death for any that might have sought him as their partner. Now, the dance was little more than a fly pecking away at a camel. Again and again he thrust out his sword, hitting the creatures that now filled these halls. With every touch, sand spilled out from their bodies, as if blood. Golden blood, not so different in colour from the gold that men would fight and kill for. Again and again it spilled onto the stone, only to avail him nothing. Even the arrows that the Indian girl shot did little to faze them, the force of impact doing far more than the barb itself.

One of the creatures swung its sword at him. He parried, and before it could come to whatever remained of its senses, he swung his sword in an upwards arc, cleaving through its belly. Sand spilled out of it, as ever. Enough to kill any mortal. But this was no man, nor mortal. Yet not a god either, for gods did not bleed. Gods could not fall. So the dance entered its last stage, as he swung his sword again and again, until the creature fell. Fallen, but not defeated.

The Prince cartwheeled towards the sand monster, avoiding the swing of yet another of the demons. The Dagger of Time was plunged into its back. The creature yelled, and for a moment, he wondered if these beings could feel pain, or fear. Had his father known such things when his sand had entered the Dagger? Had he recognized his youngest son, as he committed regicide? Thoughts best pondered later, if at all. These were not men. Men, he could leave on the ground to bleed, if need be. Men, he would spare, if the battle allowed for it. Men did not need daggers stuck into their backs to finally slay them. Men left their bodies behind.

The dance continued, the other creatures falling quickly. Or, quicker, at least. For all their strengths, they were slower than mortals. He could strike them easily enough, but finishing them? That was difficult. It was only as the last of their bodies faded away did he allow himself to breathe. He knelt down, finding a single arrow on the ground – this one had left it behind as a parting gift.

"Yours, I believe," he said, tossing it to the Indian girl.

She took it wordlessly. Caught it, pocketed it, slung the bow over her shoulders. The Prince frowned – how did she have the strength to draw its string with those skinny arms anyway? What woman would even train for the rigors of war when all civilized cultures knew that their place was far away from the battlefield? At best, they should kill with knives or poison, not the tools of men. But, what else could he seek? Only they remained within the walls of Azad, wonder of the eastern reaches of Persia, city now fated to be a tomb. He turned away and returned his gaze to the floor.

"We need to be quicker."

He shot her a look. "What?"

"These creatures. You're taking too long to kill them."

"I…what?" he blurted out.

"The longer we wait, the further the Sands of Time will spread, and you're prancing around as if they're you're concubines."

The Prince stared at her, before turning away. No-one spoke to him like that, and certainly no slave. She was no doubt enjoying this, he reflected. He needed her, if only because she was so tiny, she could fit where he couldn't. Once this was all over, she'd be back in chains where she belonged, and he'd be in Babylon, enjoying women who knew their place.

"Are you listening?"

But, that could wait. He sheathed his sword, and-

 _No blood._

Stood there, as he stared at the stone floors of the palace. No bodies. No blood. Even the sand had disappeared. He'd barely noticed that before, how little the creatures actually left of themselves. Weapons, clothes, they vanished as well, but the sand that now seemed everywhere…there was none to be seen.

"Oh fine," the girl snapped. "Stand around, doing nothing, while my father's vizier enjoys victory. Well, if you will do nothing, then-"

"There's no blood." He looked at her, and she looked back. A quizzical expression within those eyes of her. Eyes that were a bit too…too…

"No blood?"

Oh good, she talked. Enough to get him to say, "sand, but no blood."

"I don't understand."

He sighed. "My father…" He trailed off – speaking of his father would be painful for him, but painful for her as well, given that he was the one who had sacked her kingdom. Not that that mattered of course, but… "My father would tell me of the battles he fought. Of how blood remained on the sand. Embedded in its grains. The sand would move, but before the coming of the wind, blood would always remain. Blood would make the sand wet, when even rain had failed."

"Your father sounds very experienced in killing."

He ignored the barb. "Now, I am faced with sand that flows like blood. Do they bleed, I ask myself? These creatures that I slay, do they feel pain? Fear? How much of them remains?"

"Fear and pain," the girl said, her eyes narrowing. "Did you ask such questions before you slaughtered my people?"

The Prince said nothing. Had he? Already the siege felt like another life, as if a dream. Perhaps this was the world as it always was – sand, sand, and more sand. The world their tomb. His soul ready to join Ahura Mazda, while his body had yet to accept his fate. A body that ached. A body that had needs. Food, water…other certain…desires…

"No," the Prince snapped. "And we will speak no more about it."

"The way you talk, I expect we'll be doing a lot of speaking regardless."

He raised his hand in a palm, ready to slap her…but instead took a sip from a nearby fountain. The sands flowed, but for now, so did water. Water, once used to wash away blood. Water, now the only liquid to be found.

"Come," said the Prince. "We must reach the Tower of Dawn, and chances are there'll be more cracks for you to slip through."

The girl said nothing, but ran on ahead.

 _And be careful._

Shaking his head, the Prince followed. The girl was mortal, as he was. She could bleed. She could die.

That, for better or worse, was something he was worried about.


End file.
